


Songbird

by roymustang (SpicyReyes)



Series: Songbird [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Female Edward Elric, Gen, Internalized Transphobia, Trans Edward Elric, Trans Female Character, Trans Female Edward Elric, Transphobia, a lot of false equivalency where people associate genitals and gender, its like 1915 guys bear with them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15525126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/roymustang
Summary: She met up with Mustang and looked him dead in the eyes, and greeted him as Edward Elric, and felt part of her die.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> trans female edward elric is my 2nd favorite au so here ya go, my take on it  
> warnings for gender dysphoria and intentional (self-)misgendering  
> also edith starts off with a. uh. Complex™  
> it gets better but originally she associates girl with like. dresses and hair bows  
> it takes her a while to get the memo that she can be our lovable punk and still be a girl but she gets there i promise, bear with her  
> last reminder: it costs $0 to close a tab on a fic you don't like, so transphobia in my comments section will get you fuckin roasted ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The thing about it was, Ed knew he was weird. 

He knew that being called “handsome” made him grit his teeth, but being called “cute” was fine. He knew that the one time his father had mused that he may grow a beard one day, he'd gone into an inexplicable panic. He knew that when Winry got a cute sundress one summer and wore it _ all the time,  _ he didn't begrudge her, thinking he would have done the same. 

He  _ knew  _ all this. But he didn't know what it  _ meant.  _

The kicker came one day when they were all in his kitchen, eagerly awaiting the dinner his mom was cooking, and Winry started ranting about the people in town who kept mistaking her for a little boy in her work clothes. 

“It doesn’t make sense!” She said. “My name is even a girl name! What boy would be called 'Winry’? That's as silly as….as a girl named Edward!”

But when she looked to Ed, expecting to see agreement and confirmation, she instead saw dawning horror. 

Because Ed had heard her statement, and the first thought in his mind had been  _ but I  _ **_am_ ** _ a girl! _

Alphonse noticed the tension in the room, though not the reason, and asked, “What would your name be, if you were a boy, you think?”

Winry scrunched up her nose. “Uh. I dunno. What's a boy way of saying Winry?”

“Wilfred?” Trisha suggested, from where she was cooking. “Will, for short.”

Winry shrugged. “I guess.”

“Mine’s easy,” Al said. “Al to Allie. Ta da.”

Ed knew he was supposed to say something, but the idea of picking a 'girl’ name - of pointing out the differences between how he was and how he wanted to be - made him slightly nauseous. 

Winry and Al both watched him intently, before realizing he was going to offer nothing, and launching into suggestions. 

“Edwina,” Winry said, and Al stuck his tongue out. 

“Gross,” he said. “Uh, Edith?”

“I like that,” Trisha said. “Very classy.”

Ed blinked as they turned to look at him. 

“What do you think? Edith?”

And he knew Winry had those as separate sentences, but it sounded almost like  _ What do you think, Edith?  _

So Ed gave them a wide, genuine smile, and said “Perfect.”

He didn't notice Trisha’s curious gaze on him. He didn't know how much he'd revealed in that moment. But it was okay - if the Elrics were good at anything, it was adapting. And, Trisha figured, pronouns were a small thing compared to all the alchemy.

  
  


It wasn't long before Trisha had broached the topic with Ed, asking how he felt about his name and his hair and his clothes and whatnot. When she finally got him to confess that his 'boy things’ bothered him, she told him that it was entirely possible he wasn't a little boy at all. She explained, in the most child friendly way, that some girls looked like boys and vise versa, but that was an easy thing to change if he'd rather match. 

He'd - or, rather,  _ she’d -  _ agreed wholeheartedly. 

And, thus, Edward Elric was buried, and from his ashes arose the Phoenix of Edith Elric. 

  
  


Edith and Trisha sat with Al and Winry and Pinoko and explained what was going on, and Al had reacted with “I always wanted a sister! Ah, no offense, Winry.” And Winry had said “Awesome, now I can practice braiding someone else's hair. You're growing your hair out, right? Please do!” And Pinoko had simply snorted as if to say 'this is news?’

Needless to say, Edith had nothing holding her back from living her life to the fullest. She was gifted dresses and hairpins and other cute things, and her mother told her about the things she could do when she was older, like drink special teas to make her body softer and keep her voice from getting deep. 

She was thrilled. 

And then, abruptly, the world looked much darker. 

All it took was watching her mother fall to her knees, too weak to take a single step, from across the field. 

It was a split second where Edina went from thinking the world would be beautiful forever, to thinking it was ugly and rotten to the core. 

It was a single second that changed  _ everything. _

  
  


Edith had always been good at alchemy. Her and her brother were prodigies, according to anyone who saw them at work. So standing over her mother's grave, her mind went to the one thing in the world that could undo the work of God himself. 

They were going to break the taboo. They were going to bring their mother back. 

  
  


Izumi Curtis was a strong, terrifying lady. Edith was simultaneously terrified of her and inspired to be just like her. 

She agreed, with much reluctance, to teach them, and Edith couldn't have been happier. 

Until day one, when they showed up, and Izumi looked dead in her eyes and said “No dresses on my training field.”

Al had tensed, knowing what Edith’s choice of clothing meant to her, but she had just nodded. 

“I don't have a lot of pants,” she told the woman. “But I can transmute some.”

“No need,” Izumi says. “You can't use alchemy for everything. We're going shopping.”

And while the prospect of shopping for feminine-yet-practical clothes was good  _ in theory,  _ in practice it was hellish. 

Edith ended up standing in front of a rack of clothes, staring at training-appropriate gear that bore labels like ‘unisex’ and ‘universal’ but reeked of ambiguity, of mistakes and reveals and hints toward something she’d rather no one know. 

When Izumi cornered her about her reluctance to give up femininity, she clenched her fists and tried to think of how Winry would phrase it. Winry would have said  _ I hate people mistaking me for a boy.  _ What Edith said was “I don’t want people to see me as a boy. I hate it.” 

The phrasing had been a poor choice, because Izumi looked slightly stunned and then carefully blank, and Edith knew she’d shown her hand. The tip of her tongue was heavy with a response - a defense, an excuse, or a plea for the woman to teach Al even if she couldn’t stand the sight of her; who knew what would come out - but then Izumi crouched down to her eye level, met her stare dead-on, and told her “Being a woman is more than what you wear, or how you look. Your identity, is what you make of it. If you know who you are, and you own it, no one can take it away from you.” 

For the first time, Edith had been found out - and, miraculously, it had worked out.

Newly confident, she picked out her outfits, and set out to commit herself to heavy training.

  
  


Being dropped on an island with nothing but a knife was a bit unexpected, but they made it work anyway. At least she knew what the pants were for. 

  
  


Training concluded and the Elric children returned home, ready to begin the final preparations for their plan. 

When the day came, they crouched before a meticulously drawn array, piled up raw ingredients, and pricked their fingers to drop blood into the mix. 

As Edith placed her hands on the side of the array, the first thought in her mind was  _ What if I'm not good enough?  _ Her blood was part of her, and she was broken and flawed. What if that wasn't good enough for mom’s pure soul?

But Al’s blood was there, too, and no one was worth more than her brother. It had to be enough. 

  
  


It wasn't. 

  
  


The Gate showed her everything. It showed her more knowledge than she could ever hope to fit into her mind and kept shoving more in after that. She felt like she was ripping apart, cell by cell. And yet, oddly, she craved more. She felt answers she'd always longed for just outside her reach, and she stretched for them, just as the Gate yanked her back from it. 

A white figure stood before her, and called itself Truth. And then it began contemplating payments. 

He glanced her over, his featureless face seeming to sneer. “You stepped into the domain of a god, I suppose the offending foot should be adequate.”

If she felt she was being shredded before, it was nothing compared to being  _ actually  _ destroyed. She watched her leg separate into ribbons, then into individual atoms, evaporating into the air. Before she could say anything, or process what was happening, she came to in the basement of their house.  

What commenced was a nightmare. 

They'd made an abomination, a creature spat from the earth, not even a shadow of their beautiful mother to be found. And Alphonse…

She bound his soul to a suit of armor. She couldn't think beyond the determination not to lose him. When the gate looked at her and told her she'd have to pay again, she stood tall and unafraid. Let it take what it wanted. Al was the priority. She wouldn't fail her family any more. 

It took an arm. It teased her, momentarily, about taking something _else,_ glancing meaningfully down her body, but declared it wouldn’t be payment if it was helpful to the person giving it up. 

It was good to know that even the universe itself declared her distasteful, she supposed. 

  
  


Edith sat as a shell of herself, wondering when the world had turned against her so. Life was unfair, that was easy enough to tell herself...but some part of her wondered if it was her fault. Her payment. Equivalent exchange, her life being a mess for her refusing to live as she was intended to. 

She resolved that if she could, she’d find a way to fix her brother - even if she had to give up herself in the process. 

  
  
  


When Roy Mustang asked after rumors of promising alchemists, one name always came up.  _ Elric.  _

He couldn't seem to get more than that. Just  _ Elric,  _ some vague whispers about exceptional alchemic skill, and mention that whoever they were, they'd recently completed an alchemic apprenticeship under a widely respected alchemist whose name no one would dare tell him, citing his position in the military as something she would not take kindly to. 

Eventually, his digging led to a barman in a small city out East, who sighed and said “You'll be looking for Ed, then.”

Ed Elric. A full name was enough for a full search, so he pressed for more information. The barman simply turned him a cold stare and said “Don't touch that with a ten foot pole, if you know what's good for you.”

Roy wasn't great at listening. He had Maes dig up information of the kid instead. 

What he found was frustratingly incomplete - just loose records that Hohenheim Elric had briefly lived in Risembool where he'd fathered two children. 

The records were a bit weird, though, as they seemed to be mixed on the kids’ names and genders. Some listed Alphonse and Edward Elric, others changed the latter to Edith. 

Twins, maybe? One getting lost in the record keeping? 

Only one way to find out. He packed up, boarded a train, and headed to Risembool. 

  
  


Risembool was a glimpse into hell. 

The house was eerie in the dark, as though trying to warn passersby of the horror lurking inside. Roy did not heed it, and part of him regretted that. Especially at what he found: a detailed array, clearly for human transmutation, and more blood than he had possibly ever seen in one place. (The good thing about his fire was that ash did not bleed.)

He headed to the house next door in a daze, intent to find out what happened to the mysterious Elric children, only to pause when he saw the guarded expression of the old woman at the door.

The children had not died. At least, not all of them. Someone still lived, and they were hiding here.

He’d pushed past them into the house before he could even think it through, gaze falling on a hunched figure in a wheelchair in the middle of the room, missing two limbs and looking as though they were simply awaiting their own death.

The child was oddly androgynous, with the loose medical-type clothing they wore giving no hints to gender. They had a sharp jaw and square features that spoke of masculinity, but long blonde hair flowing freely over their shoulders and a sort of delicate way of holding themselves that suggested the opposite. 

Roy noticed these things in passing, but did not focus on them. He had a goal in mind.

He was yelling at the child in an instant, gripping the front of their shirt, and that’s when he saw it: deep in the kid’s eyes, there was a fire, a determined glint that couldn’t be put down by the actions or words of any one man. 

So Roy calmed himself, and he made his offer: join up with the military as a State Alchemist, and serve under his command, and he’d make sure they had every opportunity to fix their mistakes. He tied this to a more worldly motivation upon discovering the status of the brother, tied to a hunk of metal by unprecedented alchemy. 

And the kid before him, broken in the chair, looked at him with those impassioned eyes in the midst of an otherwise dead expression, and he knew he’d been heard.

When he left, he didn’t bother looking back.

He knew the kid would follow. However long it took, whatever they had to do - Roy would see them again. 

  
  


Edith got automail. The surgery was brutal, setting her nerves on fire, but she grit her teeth and took it. It was nowhere near as painful as facing the Gate, after all, nor was it more painful than it would have been to lose her brother. She would take whatever pain she had to, if it meant getting Al back to his body. 

And she had to put her money where her mouth was on that promise, sooner than later, because she realized that if she joined the military, they would go off of her official records. And, officially, she was listed as  _ Edward  _ Elric,  _ son  _ of Hohenheim and Trisha Elric. 

So as she trained her body with her brother, she trained her heart on her own. She traded her soft, pretty clothes for the durable styles she’d taken to during training under Izumi, and then further withdrew to masculine apparel. It bothered her beyond words, feeling as though the rough materials were grating her skin with every moment, but she bore it just as she bore the pain of automail and the strain of constant combat practice. 

She gave up her name. She gave up her teas, letting her body grow sharp and rough with unchecked male hormones. When her voice broke one day, giving the first glimpse into the deep tones she’d have to live with in the future, she’d forced herself to speak anyway, and refused to cry where the others could see her.

She figured they knew anyway. They  _ always  _ knew.

The one thing she refused to give up was her hair. She let it grow long and unburdened, taking care to put it in the most neutral style of braid she could, so it could pass as a quirky feature on a young boy. Even if that thought put bile in her throat. 

She met up with Mustang and looked him dead in the eyes, and greeted him as Edward Elric, and felt part of her die. 

_ This is fine,  _ she lied to herself. 

_ You would give even more for Al,  _ something in her whispered - and that, at least, was true. 

  
  


Alphonse could not join the military without risking discovery, and Edith would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved. This had been  _ her  _ mistake, and fixing it was  _ her  _ burden. 

She breezed through the exams, and when she was faced with the Fuhrer and told to prove her skills, she pointed a spear at his face. He seemed amused by it, and when he moved almost imperceptibly and her spear fell apart, she knew why.

He was good. 

One day, she’d be better. 

  
  


_ We award the title of FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST to one EDWARD ELRIC. _

The words were like a taunt, displaying a name that should have died and a title that made mockery of the displays of her sins. She laughed at it, shrugging it off, telling Mustang with a false bravado that it was ‘typical.’ But inside it stung, it hurt, it festered like an infected wound. 

One day, it would be too much, but for now, she could bare it. 

It was the beginning of the end, and she had to see it through.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings still apply! edith is very mean to herself pls tread lightly

Edith sat at one of the tables in the main receiving area of Mustang’s office - the ‘staff area,’ as it was commonly called among the members of the Colonel’s team, where the tables and desks that housed the work of his loyal lieutenants were placed. She sat here often, killing as much time as possible talking to the others before finally giving in and going to face the bastard in charge, so that he could rant about her being late.

She told Al repeatedly that she just didn’t like the guy’s attitude, which was true. But it was also just a tiny bit to do with his annoying habit of saying  _ exactly  _ the right thing to get under her skin. Usually taunts about being a ‘little boy,’ which he always assumed were about her thoughts on age and maturity rather than her offense at being called out on her presented gender. 

Because at the end of the day, she still wasn’t a boy. She called herself Edward when asked and sometimes forced out the words ‘man’ and ‘boy’ and ‘guy,’ but in her head she was a  _ she  _ and  _ she  _ dreamed of a day where she could break out her special herbal tea again and return to her nice clothes and let her hair loose around her shoulders. 

Which is what led to the growing tension in her back as the men around her had their annoying, ignorant conversation.

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t make sense,” Havoc said. “The Lieutenant is gorgeous, and smart, and a hell of a shot. Any man would be wrapped around her finger in a second, but she doesn’t care. She keeps her hair pulled back and wears the ugly-ass standard uniform and never does anything even a little feminine. It’s like she’s scared to be a woman.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Breda suggested, not looking up from the paperwork in front of him. “She’ll put a bullet in you before you can finish the first word.” 

“I’m just putting it out there - Hawkeye in a little bit of makeup, and a fancier hairstyle? She’d be a weapon walking.” Havoc scratched his nose. “Well, more than usual, anyway.”

“Lieutenant Hawkeye can wear what she wants,” Falman told them, diplomatically. “Mainly because she could probably kill us barehanded regardless of what she’s wearing.”

“I could,” Hawkeye’s voice came, and Edith huffed as the men around her jumped. “And you may just see proof, if you don’t explain why I walked into you discussing my wardrobe.” 

Fuery, the poor guy, immediately began to stammer out an explanation. “Jean mentioned that none of the female officers really wear anything feminine, and was wondering if it was a regulation. And then it just turned into a debate on whether or not female officers  _ should  _ wear feminine things.”

“‘Feminine’ things?” Riza prompted, watching the men sweat. 

“Y’know,” Havoc said, waving a hand. “Makeup. Jewelry. Skirts. I don’t know. What normal women wear.” 

“Normal women?” Riza repeated, sounding heavily irked. “Are you implying that to dress any other way is unnatural?”

“No!” Jean protested. “No way, that’s not what I meant, you can wear what you want. But, like, it’s just hard to think of you as a woman when I know you as a soldier, right?”

Riza looked ready to pull her gun, but she didn’t get the chance. Edith was  _ done,  _ she’d reached her limit, and she  _ had  _ to say something.

She stood in one smooth motion, slamming her hands on the table, watching the men around her jump. She leaned over the surface of the table so she was staring directly into Havoc’s eyes, and growled, “Let me make something clear. How people dress, how people act, how people present themselves - that’s none of your business. My teacher once told me that there was more to being a man or a woman than how you look. Riza is as much a woman as she says she is, and if you can’t get that in your head because she’s not walking around in a skirt and lipstick then that’s  _ your  _ problem.”

The others were all staring at her, and then their eyes all slid to something behind her. She straightened, turning to look as well…

To see Al and Mustang, standing side-by-side, both having walked in during her rant. Al was holding the cafeteria lunch he’d gone to fetch for her, and Mustang was posed tensely, like he really wished he’d stayed in his office. 

She squared her shoulders and looked straight past Mustang, instead approaching Al and accepting the bagged lunch. “Thanks,” she said, putting on a false casual tone. “I was starving.” And then, because she’d said a bit too much that day, she swallowed down the burning in her throat and added, “Growing boys have to eat, Al, you know this.”

Al’s face no longer had expressions, but she could  _ feel  _ the empathy, the sympathy, the  _ pain  _ rolling off him in waves. 

She flashed him a smile she didn’t feel, pat his chest in a gesture of hollow comfort, and turned on her heel to march into Mustang’s office. 

“Come on, Colonel Bastard,” she called. “I guess you want that report now, right?”

“I wanted it an hour ago,” Mustang returned, apparently taking his cue from her to ignore her outburst. “But now will have to do, I suppose.”

She flopped down on the couch, and launched into a colorful tale of chasing down rogue alchemists in a slum, ignoring the watchful eyes upon her.

She was not whole, she was not human, but she would not give them anything to latch onto to prove it. 

Edith Elric was dying, slowly, and  _ Edward  _ did not have the strength to bear her heart. 

  
  


Something was odd about Edward Elric. 

First of all, there was his name. Roy had noticed right off the bat that calling him “Edward” resulted in a twitch at best and a full on flinch at worst. He didn’t know what the reason for that was, but he took note of it anyway, and stuck to calling him “Fullmetal” or, if the situation called for something casual, “Ed.” 

Then there was his clothing. He wore all black clothes, which were an odd mix of loose and tight - squeezing his hips and shoulders tightly and hanging loose just about everywhere else. He also wore a gigantic, ridiculous red coat, which drowned him constantly. He would never alter it, though, even though Roy knew for a fact that there was nothing sentimental about it. He’d seen the boy toss a shredded one aside and transmute a new one out of plain cloth without blinking. The only theories Roy could come up with were that he was either trying to hide in the fabric, which seemed unlikely with his brash personality, or that he was clinging to the hope he’d grow into it. 

And now, on top of that, there was his odd defense of…

He didn’t actually know  _ what  _ the boy had been defending. Personal choice, perhaps? Regardless, he got very angry when Havoc started suggesting that Hawkeye change her dress. 

Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. He got angry when he implied she was less of a woman because of it.

_ There is more to being a man or a woman than how you look,  _ he’d said. Roy couldn’t help but puzzle over that. What did it  _ mean?  _ What was he thinking? Why was that ever told to him?

He turned his gaze on the 16-year-old in his office, looking unruffled after yelling at Jean, radiating annoyance and casual confidence as though all his oddities were simply strengths he’d accepted over the years. Four years this kid had been in Mustang’s command, and Roy still didn’t know a damn thing about him.

Sure, he knew Edward Elric was an alchemical prodigy. The Fullmetal Alchemist, a kid with two automail limbs with unprecedented skill and quick wit to make the nation’s top minds look like drooling infants, was easy enough to puzzle out. 

But  _ Ed,  _ the kid that defended his lieutenant from someone suggesting she was less than any other woman because of her career or clothing, who defended his younger brother without thought even if it would risk his life against a blow Alphonse’s armor could have easily taken, who would give the finger to any superior who dared suggest that he follow code and not actually break any rules - that was who Roy couldn’t understand. 

And Roy  _ hated  _ not understanding things. 

So he leaned forward on his desk, resting his head on his folded hands, and decided to just go for it. “Ed,” he began. “Mind telling me what the show outside was about?”

Ed cut off mid-rant, something about alchemists with no ‘respect’ for the science, Roy wasn’t really listening. He looked a bit like a child caught thieving snacks, if the punishment for that thievery happened to be death. His face had gone completely pale, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyes were distant and dead in a way Roy had never seen.

Alphonse apparently understood this expression, even if Roy didn’t, because he jumped in immediately. “Colonel,” he said. “My- uh.  _ Ed  _ really doesn’t like when people get criticized for what they wear. Ed had that happen a lot when we were kids, and it happened to our friend Winry sometimes, too. It’s a sensitive topic.”

Something was weird about Al’s phrasing, but Roy couldn’t quite place it. “I feel like this was a bit more than him not liking it. I’ve never seen a young man-...”

But before he could get any further, Ed turned furious eyes on him, face scrunched up in anger. “Stop!” He yelled. “This is none of your business, Mustang!” His hands grabbed at the end of his braid, pulling at the band, a nervous habit Roy had noticed he fell into when he was extremely tired or angry or otherwise stressed. What he  _ wasn’t  _ used to seeing, though, was the following act: Ed smoothed his expression out, looking coldly determined, and snapped the band holding his hair in its braid. In a smooth motion, he combed out the braid with his fingers, let his hair fall messy and loose around his shoulders. His posture shifted, almost imperceptibly, holding himself slightly taller and shifting the set of his jaw, so he looked significantly less defensive. With that done, he turned to look back at Roy.

Roy took a moment to be taken aback at the sight before him. With long blonde hair rolling free, his jaw not so stubbornly set, and his posture evenly confident, Ed looked like a different person. Softer, somehow, but not in any way weaker. In fact, Roy figured this form of Ed was  _ more  _ capable of destruction. This wasn’t an Ed trying to prove himself, trying desperately to make a name - this Ed knew full well what he was and was simply saying  _ look at me, this is who I am.  _

Roy didn’t know what this change meant, but it was a bit inspiring to witness. 

Ed didn’t leave him in the dark long. “The way I look has given me problems since I was a kid,” he told Roy. “When I was four I started working on it, being careful how I presented myself, stressing over how each and every single person saw me.” He tipped his head. “Then my mom died, and it became less important, but it still  _ mattered.  _ My teacher taught me that it wasn’t how I looked that defined who I am, any more than anyone else is defined by  _ their  _ looks. That was up to me.” He looked away, looking to the broken hairband he held. Eyes locked on it, he clapped, transmuting it back into one piece, before pulling his hair up into a tight ponytail. “And then I joined the military. The second I decided to do that, I burned everything that would tempt me to give up. Literally. I torched our house to the ground.” He turned cold eyes to Roy. “I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, but my old clothes were all in that house. The way I dressed was all I had for a long time. Now, I’m not letting that define me. I know who I am. Who everyone else sees isn’t my problem.”

Quietly, as though he didn’t even realize he was saying it, Alphonse whispered “Sister,” and suddenly things made both infinitely more and ridiculously less sense. 

Ed’s documents all listed him as male. They listed his name as Edward Elric. They listed him as Hohenheim and Trisha’s son.

But…

Documents could be altered. He remembered hearing whispers of a child named  _ Edith,  _ the child no one could place in photos or public records or any other paper proof, but seemed to exist only in memories of those that had known her. Roy had originally had theories - disproved ones, over the years, about third Elric siblings who would have died along the way or wandered off or whatnot. 

But what if the answer was more simple? What if Edith Elric was sitting in front of him, masquerading as a boy to accomplish her goals?

Roy frowned, because that’s where things made  _ less  _ sense. The military accepted applicants regardless of gender. Female state alchemists were rare, yes, but not unheard of. It was just as easy for a woman to be accepted as a man, if they had the skill, and Ed certainly did. There was no reason for her to alter her papers.

And that also brought up the question of  _ who  _ altered the papers. Everything he’d found officially on record for the kid had dubbed him Edward, even when he was a 10 year old boy that Roy was chasing rumors of. Unless there was some reason why a daughter of Hohenheim would be hunted down, there was no reason for him to be falsely reported as a son.

Something else was going on, and Roy was dying of curiosity. 

Ed, though, didn’t seem inclined to be any help. Upon hearing Al’s whisper, he - she? They? - straightened abruptly, then stood, giving a stiff yet somehow informal salute and telling him, “Later, bastard.” Then….they, he supposed, until further notice, headed out of the office, moving in a distinctly rushed manner, back straight as though afraid to show even the slightest weakness. 

After a moment of silent pondering, Roy picked up the phone.

If anyone could figure this out, it was Maes. 

  
  


“Hm,” Maes hummed over the phone, when Roy finished explaining, and he knew he’d lost immediately. That was Maes’ particular tone he used when he had something he already suspected confirmed, and if he’d already suspected something, Roy had no hope that he would share. Maes had apparently decided it was none of Roy’s business, either, if he hadn’t mentioned it, at least in passing. 

Roy sighed. “I’m not going to get any answers from you, am I?” 

“Asking questions you already know the answer to, Roy? You could be an investigations officer after all.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “I’d burn Investigations to the ground after a single day and you know it.”

“A day is generous,” Maes replied easily. “I’d give it more like an hour.”

“Such faith.”

“We have a  _ lot  _ of paperwork.”

Roy scrunched up his nose, eyeing the work on his own desk. “Gross. An hour is probably fair, then.” Returning to the topic at hand, he prompted, “Are you sure there’s  _ nothing  _ you can tell me?”

“There’s one thing,” Maes said, and Roy was instantly at attention. “Anything Ed tells you? Listen. Not just to the words, listen to the feeling, the tone, the hidden meanings. Ed  _ is  _ hiding something, but it’s not malicious. I think she’s the only one being hurt by this.”

“She, then?” Roy murmured. 

“Not that you should use that around other people,” Maes said. “But it will make her flinch less, at least.”

“Good enough for me,” Roy said, relaxing in his chair. “Thanks, Maes.”

“No problem,” his friend replied. “Now, when are you coming by? I got my newest photos developed, and Elicia-...”

Roy hung up immediately. Sometimes, you had to pick your battles. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i dont hate havoc he's just the easiest mouthpiece for plot development lmao

Ed kept the ponytail. 

It suited her, Roy thought. She held herself higher with it, hunched in on herself a little less. 

The men (particularly Havoc) were quick to apologize for angering her, and she sent them packing with an angry, curse-filled rant about how they didn’t owe  _ her  _ any apologies, but Riza. With that, the whole incident was behind them.

Except…

Except Roy still didn’t know what was going on, and while the pronoun adjustment made things a little clearer it still didn’t answer the real questions he had as to  _ why  _ Ed was hiding who she was. 

His only choice was to leave it to Maes.

  
  
  
  


Ed was braiding Elicia’s hair. 

Maes didn’t think he was supposed to witness it, but Elicia had asked how Ed braided her hair and Ed had grabbed the band out of her ponytail and started in on a lesson. 

Ed always seemed more comfortable with her hair down, and it showed as she worked, a soft smile playing on her face as she gave gentle instructions to narrate her careful movements. 

“Your hair is crimped, here,” Ed commented, tapping the side of Elicia’s head. “You wear it in pigtails a lot, don’t you?” 

Elicia gave a quick nod, causing Ed to fumble her grasp on the braid a little. “I like them!”

“Well, that’s good,” Ed said. “Maybe you can combine the hairstyles and wear pigtail braids.”

Elicia’s face lit up like Christmas. “Can you show me?”

“After dinner,” Maes cut in, catching both of their attention. “Which is ready, by the way. Come on, girls.”

He didn’t really think about it until after it was out. As Elicia happily raced past him to go eat, Maes and Ed were left staring at each other, his last word hanging in the air between them. Any chance he had to play it off as a joke or a mistake was lost in the look on his face as he realized what he’d just revealed. 

“You…” Ed shook her head, looking lost. “You  _ know?”  _

“I had suspicions,” Maes confirmed. “Roy called me yesterday, though, and that’s when I knew for sure.”

Ed, quite predictably, scowled. “He needs to mind his own fucking business. It doesn’t matter! I can’t…” Her voice grew quiet. “I can’t be that.”

“Why not?”

Ed gaped at him.

Undeterred, Maes continued. “Some people wouldn’t be very tolerant of it, but you’ve been fighting people on their perception of you since day one. Officially, it wouldn’t matter one way or the other. You don’t wear the uniform, so there’s no need to stress about which cut we ordered. The dorms are basically apartments, so there’s no gender seperation. You could-...”

Maes was cut off mid-sentence with a rush of air leaving his lungs, courtesy of a small teen smashing into his chest, arms locking around him in a hug that felt like it was half intended to squeeze him to death. Desperation was evident in the iron lock of Ed’s arms, and Maes smiled at it, resting one hand on her back and the other on her head, combing idly through her hair. 

“Do you have a different name?” he asked. “I don’t want to assume anything, there.”

There was a long silence, and then an almost-indecipherable whisper of,  _ “Edith.”  _

That explained where the name from Roy’s search years before had come from. “Alright, Edith,” Maes said, cheerily to cover the sob it brought forth. “We really should go get dinner. My lovely wife worked very hard on it, you know.”

Edith pulled back, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve to compose herself. “Could I really…” She trailed off, then started again. “Could I really just...be  _ me?”  _

“There’s no official rule against it,” Maes said. “It’s up to you if you want to fight that battle or not. We’re with you, though, either way.”

“I’ll...think about it,” Edith said, slowly. “I don’t know. I’ve been  _ this  _ so long, I’m not sure I even remember how I was before.”

“So become someone new,” Maes said. “All of this, though, can wait until  _ after dinner.”  _

Edith laughed at that, which Maes counted as a personal victory.

Her life was hard, in many ways. She needed a moment every now and then to cry, and a moment to laugh, and time to be herself.

Hopefully, she’d have that, soon. 

  
  
  
  


“So, uh,” Havoc started to say, sitting around a table with the others of Mustang’s team at lunch, while both Riza and Roy were absent, allowing him to feel safe saying something. “Does anyone know where the boss was this morning?”

Fuery nodded. “The Colonel said he was at Major Hughes’ house today. Why?”

“Because he’s been in a weirdly good mood today,” Havoc pointed out. “He hasn’t even yelled at Mustang, like,  _ at all. _ I’m sort of worried we he’s a clone.” 

“Huh,” Breda thought it over. “Now that you mention it, yeah, he’s been kind of...peppy.”

“Right?” Havoc threw his hands in the air. “That’s fucking weird, isn’t it? What  _ happened?”  _

“Maybe someone told him you were fired,” Falman drawled. He met Havoc’s glare with an unimpressed look, taking a slow bite of his own food like he was making a point. 

“You wanna know what I think?” Havoc asked. 

“Not really,” Breda replied. “But you’re gonna tell us anyway.”

“Very true.” Havoc leaned back in his seat. “I think the boss got a  _ girlfriend.”  _

There was a beat of silence.

“No,” Breda said. “There’s no way.”

“Why not?”

“He’s…” Breda waved his hands vaguely in front of him. “I dunno, not like that.”

“Like  _ what?” _

“Like  _ you.” _

Havoc rolled his eyes. “I’m not the only one who appreciates women, you know. I’m just saying, he’s sixteen. It would make sense.”

“What would?”

Havoc jumped, turning to look over his shoulder, to see Ed himself standing there.

“Oh, uh, hey boss,” Havoc stuttered out. “Don’t you usually eat lunch in the library?”

Ed held up his hands, showing his food. “I’m going there now. I had to  _ get _ lunch, first.” He looked between the others at the table. “I heard ‘sixteen.’ Are you talking about me?”

“You’re happy today,” Breda informed him. “And Havoc’s dumb monkey brain-...”

“Hey!”

“...-Thought that could only mean you got a date, or something.”

Ed scrunched up his nose, looking heavily displeased by even the thought. “Uh, no. That’s, um. That’s not something I really intend to do.”

Havoc stared incredulously. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Not having a girlfriend at the  _ moment,  _ that makes sense, sure. But not wanting one at  _ all _ ?”

Ed’s face got a bit pinched, and Fuery and Falman both went on alert immediately, recognizing the same face he made whenever cornered on something that was about to lead to a rant. 

Havoc was on thin ice with stuff like this, after his Hawkeye rant that got him chewed out by...well, pretty much everybody. If he pissed Ed off again, this time about something  _ personal,  _ he might end up leaving the cafeteria with a broken nose. 

“I have a lot going on,” Ed said, voice almost monotone with how flat it was. “I’m not exactly excited to have to explain that to anybody, thanks.”

Havoc winced. “Oh, right. Sorry. I forget your life is kind of wild. Still, you know, one day. Besides, you don’t have to  _ marry  _ the girl. Most of the fun of being a sixteen year old boy-...”

“I’m not.”

Havoc stopped mid-sentence, blinking. “What?”

Ed’s face was pinched and flushed, either in anger or something else Havoc wasn’t privy to, but they didn’t get much of a good look at it before the teen simply turned on his heel and walked out. 

“...What does that mean?” Havoc asked the empty air where Ed had been, before turning to his coworkers. “What is he ‘not’?”

“Not dating, I guess?” Breda said. 

“Not putting up with your bullshit,” Falman suggested. 

Everyone turned to Fuery, who blinked owlishly at them, before slowly stuttering out, “Um, he’s. He’s not really a normal teenager, is he?”

They group took a moment to consider the ideas. 

“You must really like the taste of your boots,” Breda said, apparently giving up on answers. “Since you just keep sticking your foot in your mouth.”

“I’ll apologize later, I guess,” Havoc said. “I think girls are a sore topic for the boss. He gets really defensive when we mention them, so-...”

“Just,” Falman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just shut up. Please.”

Havoc’s jaw snapped closed.

“Thank you,” Breda breathed out.

“You apologize after lunch,” Falman declared. “Now eat.”

  
  
  
  


Edith hadn’t really meant to say anything, when Havoc was goading her, but the words had just come out.

_ I’m not,  _ she’d said, so easily, and very nearly explained the words, too. 

It had felt good. Terrifying, but freeing. 

Standing in front of Mustang’s office door, she tried to cling to that feeling, rather than let the anxiety around it bury her.

If she told anyone, she needed to start here. 

She took a steadying breath, though  _ now or never,  _ and knocked on the door.

  
  
  
  
  


“Come in,” Roy called, continuing to scan over the requisition paper in front of him. How these kept ending up shoved off on him, he wasn’t sure, but more power over other units wasn’t something he was eager to begrudge. 

The creak of the door was soft and drawn out, marking someone opening it very slowly, and he looked up to investigate. 

Ed was there, looking just shy of panicked.

“Ed,” Roy greeted. “You didn’t kick in my door. What happened?”

Ed shut the door behind her.

Roy grimaced. Something must have been  _ really  _ wrong.

“I need,” Ed started, then stopped, then began again. “I need to tell you something.”

Roy straightened, immediately alert. “Anything.”

Ed’s nose pinked, and she stared at him for a solid minute without a word.

“Ed?” Roy prompted. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know how to say it,” she said. “I’ve never had to say it before.”

“Just spit it out,” Roy suggested. “That always seems to be your preferred method.”

Ed chewed her lip. “...I...I’m...Shit, shit, okay.” Ed shook her head violently. “Okay, fuck it. Just...fuck it.” She looked back up, face stone. “I’m a girl.”

Roy blinked.

“I mean, I’m not,” Ed continued, turning to the side and starting to pace back and forth in front of Roy’s desk as she rambled nervously. “Technically. Like, scientifically. I guess. I mean, we really don’t know that much about genders biologically speaking, right? They discovered chromosomes, like, twenty years ago? And Truth showed me a whole lot of other stuff about it but most of it was nonsense I couldn’t even  _ begin _ to follow, and for me that’s kind of major. The thing is, I wasn’t- my body is-...Ugh.” 

She stopped, turning an almost desperate look to Roy. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

“No,” Roy answered honestly. “But I already knew you were a girl.”

She gaped at him. “How?”

“Al called you ‘sister,’ the other day,” Roy reminded her. “And when I was looking for you as a child, several people reported the Elrics having a little girl, who was somehow entirely absent when I arrived. I’m assuming that was you - Edith?”

Ed’s - or, well,  _ Edith’s - _ eyes watered. “Yeah,” she rasped back. “That’s, um. That’s me.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Roy told her. “I wasn’t going to say anything until you did, but I probably should have let you know that you didn’t have to pretend around me.”

“I’m still pretending,” Edith murmured in response. “I’m just-...”

“You are Edith Elric,” Roy declared. “The Fullmetal Alchemist. The details don’t matter.” He looked back down to his paperwork, then up at Edith again. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say, but it’s not my business. You say you are a girl, and so that’s what you are. No further explanation needed.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Roy told her, before lifting a paper, waving it in her direction. “Your gender doesn’t make your report any less late.”

The instant groan and string of complaints was a relieving change, which probably should have been more concerning than it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edith has people that know now!!! also the popular vote seems to be to keep this ship-free so it will stay gen  
> maybe i'll write a shipping version or sequel or something later idk


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edith, awakened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edith: i could come out to everybody...or i could just....do this.....>:3

Havoc rubbed at his eyes, still sore about having had to wake up early, but a deal was a deal. He had promised to get everyone coffee in the mornings this week to make up for his repeated clashes with Ed, and his wallet and his sleep schedule could deal with it. The alternative was to just let Ed punch him, and that kid hit pretty damn hard. Not to mention, depending on how mad he was, he might go for the  _ automail _ hand. 

He strolled through the door of the office with a yawn, blinking sleepily into the room, where a couple of his coworkers were already present. Fuery and Falman were already seemingly at work, flipping through some papers, those overachievers. He approached the divided table that served as their workstation and sat the coffee carrier on the edge. 

“Brain fuel,” he announced. “You’re welcome.”

Falman responded with a grunt as Fuery passed him a coffee, while the younger gave Havoc a bright smile and an adorably sincere, “Thanks.” 

“I’m here before  _ Hawkeye?”  _ Havoc asked, noticing the emptiness of the room at last. “Why am I here so damn early?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Falman said. 

Havoc flipped him off. “New information only, please, asshole.”

As though summoned, the door opened again to reveal Hawkeye, her uniform jacket hung over one arm and her hair slightly mussed. 

“Sorry I’m late,” she apologized, stopping in the middle of the room to renegotiate her bun into a slightly straighter form. “The power was out on my street, so getting ready was...interesting.”

“You’re not late,” Havoc pointed out. “We’re all stupidly early.”

It was a testament to how strange it was for him to be there that Riza turned wide, surprised eyes on him. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, before gesturing to the coffee. “I’ve been enlisted as the errand boy.”

Riza looked to Falman, who took a slow sip of his coffee before explaining, “It’s his penance.” 

“Ah,” she said. “What’d you do?”

“Pissed Ed off,” Havoc said. “...Again. Pissed him off  _ twice,  _ I should say.”

She shook her head at him, taking a seat of her own at the table. “You should really think before you speak.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered. “I had to set an hour-early alarm today. That’s some  _ shit  _ right there.”

Her response was stopped by the door opening again, Breda entering this time. “Holy  _ shit,”  _ he said, immediately when he was through the door. “I passed Ed in the lobby, I think.”   
“You think?” Riza echoed. 

“Well, whoever it was, they were blonde and talking to Al,” Breda said.

“Certainly sounds like Ed.”   
“Yeah,” Breda continued. “Except-...”

They ended up seeing the ‘except,’ rather than hearing it, as Ed entered the room behind them. 

“This is bullshit,” he announced to the room at large as he crossed it, either oblivious to the stares locked on him or firmly ignoring them - either was possible. “Mustang makes a big ass deal about me getting here on time today, and I’m still here before him. What an  _ asshole _ .” He stopped at the side of the table, looking down at the coffee carrier. “Do these have cream in them?”

“Uh,” Havoc responded. “Yeah, I think?”   
Ed’s nose wrinkled. “Gross,” he declared, before turning on his heel and heading toward Mustang’s office. “I’m gonna pass out on the couch for a while. Tell the bastard not to wake me up, his shit’ll be on his desk.”

“I’ll do my best to pass that on,” Riza assured him, managing to keep from sounding as stupefied as the rest felt. 

As Mustang’s office door swung shut behind the teen, the full unit continued staring at it for a long, long time.

“...Was that a-…?” Havoc started to ask.

“Yes,” Falman confirmed. “If you’re hallucinating, we all are.”

There was a long, dumbfound silence.

“What the  _ fuck?”  _ Havoc asked the room at large.

No one had an answer.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Edith smoothed her hands nervously across the fabric of her skirt, staring at the door of Mustang’s office and practically vibrating with the struggle to keep from pressing against it, listening to what could possibly be being said on the other side. 

She wasn’t going to break down her identity to every single person, or go out of her way to debate with people about who and what she was. She was just going to  _ be,  _ and they could get with the picture or be introduced to Winry’s excellent craftsmanship of a metal fist. 

She couldn’t tell how long she sat there, slowly chewing off all the nails on her flesh hand, before the door opened again and Mustang emerged from it.

He stopped in the doorway, blinking at her - or, more specifically, at her knees, pressed together and peeking out beneath the edge of her skirt. She’d picked a longer one, but all her nervous leg bouncing had pushed it up. Good thing, then, that she had shaved her legs. She’d debated it for a long time, but eventually opted to do it, which took off some of the uncomfortable feeling of being under scrutiny. 

“...Good morning,” Mustang greeted, after a tense beat of silence, looking away from the wardrobe change to start heading toward his desk, ignoring Edith just as much as he always did.

She appreciated it, even if he wasn’t doing it on purpose.  _ Especially  _ if he wasn’t doing it on purpose. 

“I didn’t expect you to actually be here,” he said. “I thought the others were trying to play a practical joke. I was waiting for the bucket of water to drop off the doorframe the second I passed under it.”

“I took it down,” she told him dryly. “Can’t make you worthless this early in the morning.”

Mustang stopped and looked back at her, opening his mouth to reply, only to snap it back shut, pointing at the surface of his desk. 

“Ta-da!” Edith announced, cheerily. “I actually did the report.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at it, before starting to circle his desk, carefully inspecting it.

“What?” she snapped. “What are you doing?”

“What did you break?” Roy asked. “What trap is picking that up about to set off?”

Edith bristled, flipping him off. “Go fuck yourself, it’s not a trick! I just…”

Roy looked up to her, and she faltered, curling in on herself a little, eyes flicking off to lock on the wall behind him. 

“I just wanted to say thanks, is all,” she muttered. “You were...really cool about everything. I appreciated it.” 

Roy shook his head, taking a seat at his desk at last. “Well, I’d say you don’t owe me anything,” he said, “but if it gets you to do your work, by all means, continue.” 

She sniffed, indignant, before standing to head back out. “I don’t know why I talk to you,” she said, snide, as she left the office.

Roy didn’t respond, just smiled to himself, gently plucking the report off the surface of the desk.

The blue flash of the alchemic trap being activated was the only warning he got before the ink lifted from the paper, splashing across his face.

“Why am I even surprised?” he asked the empty air of the office.

  
  
  
  
  


Edith approached the coffee carrier, popping the lid off the last remaining coffee to inspect it carefully, judging the darkness to determine if it was appropriately dairy-free for consumption. 

“So, uh. Boss,” Havoc said.

She didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“....Did you lose a bet?”   
She snapped the lid back on the coffee, lifting it up to take an experimental sip. She weighed the taste for a long moment, before deeming it acceptable, dropping into a chair to finish it.

Then, and only then, did she reply, a firm, “Nope.”

“Okay,” Havoc said, voice nearly squeaking, probably catching the tension in her answer and misinterpreting it as anger. “Carry on, then, I guess.”

“Thanks for the permission,” she said, utterly dry, and took another drink of her coffee.

There was a long, tense silence. 

“Did you buy that?”

Edith snapped her eyes to Fuery, as did everyone else, all surprised that  _ he  _ was the one to risk venturing further.

His face flushed beet red. “I just-..! It doesn’t look like the stuff you usually transmute?”

“It is distinctly free of skulls,” Riza allowed.

Edith huffed at them. “I didn’t buy it. It was a gift.”

Breda’s eyebrows bunched together in confusion, as he asked, “From who?”

Edith kicked her legs beneath the table. “Gracia had some old stuff around, and she let me go through it. I liked this, so I took it.” 

“It’s...different.”

“It’s a skirt,” Edith said, dry and unimpressed. “You can say it’s a skirt, Havoc. Don’t hurt yourself.”

There was another tense silence.

“..I’m just surprised it’s not leather, honestly,” Havoc said after a moment. 

There was a hiss of air as the rest of the men bit down on laughs, waiting for her response to know if it was safe to find that joke funny.

Her lips curled up at the sides in wry humor. “I said I got it from  _ Gracia,”  _ she reminded him. “That’s probably more something I’d have to buy for myself. Good idea, though.”

Havoc perked up. “Does that mean I’m forgiven? Can I stop buying coffee?”

“Nope,” Edith replied immediately. “But don’t get me one again. This is pretty gross.”

Offended noises came from both Breda and Havoc, and both launched into trying to convince Edith of the virtues of a good cup of coffee, topic safely changed.

She hadn’t felt so at home in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter of songbird! nothings really. resolved. but its moving forward and i like rounding off her coming into her own this way, and im thinking i'll do a little sequel about the same length dealing with all the actual story elements and changes involving a transfem!ed  
> especially because i have a whole "hohenheim meets edith" scene written out that i didnt get to use here :')

**Author's Note:**

> `


End file.
